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2013.03.13 - Denied
Scenes from an Italian Restaurant... It's been over a week since Fern's last shift at Anita Bella. 'Something came up' and she was out of town. Way out of town. In Bangkok. Unfortunately, she didn't get to do any of the touristy things, but she did make it back to New York with her life so, hey, win. She's already been over the story and had a good cry with Anita before her shift started, the owner and surrogate mother getting more out of Fern than the girl had intended to tell. But it was cathartic, and combined with lunch out with a new friend, she's getting back to normal. Still, everyone on staff is working against her tonight, or, more accurately, for her, treating her like she's going to break and forcing her to ease back into it. She would prefer to jump back in with both feet, put everything behind, and just get on with life. Instead, she's been assigned the task of wrapping silverware up in napkins. Really? She looks a little grumpy, going about her work at a side booth, but knows that they have the best intentions at heart. Angel hasn't been to the restaurant in that week, due to work and an otherwise full calendar. But as soon as he had a free evening, he flew down to Brooklyn before he could be stopped. Stepping into the restaurant, he greets Signora Anita warmly, his eyes flitting over the patrons and servers alike, obviously looking for someone. When he's asked to be placed in Fern's zone and told that she's working table prep, he just steps past the hostess station and makes his way over to the booth. "Want any help?" Because he's folded silverware in napkins before. Really. Fern had just completed her millionth little bundle when the flash of white at the door caught her eye, and her hands still, her smile coming as she recognizes the young corporate vice president. She's about to go tell Jerry that she wants Warren's table, when the Angel starts walking to where she's working, and she stops halfway out of the booth, looking at him curiously. His question strengthens her smile, and she sinks back to fully seated, narrowing her eyes slightly to study him. "Somehow I think this is out of your league," she teases, good humor in her voice. "But since they've relegated me to drudge work -for my own good-, I'd welcome your company. Would you be comfortable here? We could move," she offers, not wanting to cramp his wings. Angel returns the smile when he sees it and there's almost a little relief in his eyes -- she didn't seem annoyed to see him! That's a good thing! "Well, I'm a fast learner..." is offered before he looks at the booth for a moment. Glancing back at Fern, he rubs at the back of his neck, "To be honest, I don't know that I'd actually fit too well But..." he looks around and pulls a chair over to the end of the booth, "I can sit here, right?" "Of course you can," Fern says agreeably. "Hey, are you hungry? I can get you whatever you want." He did come to a restaurant, after all, and most people do that because they want to eat. And she's still a waitress, even if her own wings have been clipped for the night by her boss. She sure doesn't just wear this uniform for funsies. "Anita made rosemary bread today, and there's some left for a change. It's great with the spaghetti." Angel turns the chair around so that he can better sit. He pauses mid-reach to some of the silverware, "While I'd love to try some of that famous rosemary bread," he starts before pausing and clearing his throat as if he's about to say something that's not terribly easy to say. He fiddles with the silverware before he just manages to say it, "I was hoping that I could get dinner for you. Maybe. I mean...not here..." Fern's not the most perceptive person in the world, but she can tell that Warren seems less then entirely comfortable, and she can't help but wonder if it's the surroundings. She's looked up some information over the past few days, wanting to learn more about some of her more 'exceptional' new friends, and there is no lack of information out there on Warren Worthington the Third. Name linked to starlets and the moneyed crowd, the stories of his 'coming out of the closet' about his wings, frequent mentions in the society columns. Thus, the thought of them hanging out takes her by surprise and she doesn't entirely hide it. "Well, I can't tonight," she says with a smile. "I was kind of out for a week, and I really need to make my rent this month." She absently gathers up fork, knife, spoon and napkin as she goes on, "I think it'd be fun, though." Maybe even people who have it all want something more simple sometimes. She's sure got a corner on the simple market! And she's enjoying making new friends. And speaking of friends... Fern's brows go up, her face more animated, "Oh hey! I know someone who knows you! Her name is Jubilee." 'Having it all' isn't necessarily about happiness. Warren watches Fern a moment as she answers, as if trying to figure out if it's really an 'I want to, but really, really can't' sort of answer or if she's trying to be polite in brushing him off. "Tomorrow night?" he asks carefully. He then looks to see how she's wrapping the silverware and tries to emulate it, albeit much slower than she's been doing. "Jubilee? The name sounds familiar...she might be one of my students? A kid, right?" Fern considers the suggestion and counters with, "If you could make it around four? I know that's really early, but I should be here by six, so that would give us a couple hours." Her tone is apologetic, but she isn't just brushing off the idea. "Did you have somewhere in mind?" Without being obvious about it, she's watching him have a go at helping with the silverware. That is, until she grins, and scoots to the end of the bench, close to his chair, reaching over to still his hands with a light touch. "Here, just fold this end up first, then roll." She makes the fold with nimble fingers, but leaves the rest to him as she returns to the one she had been rolling herself. "Yeah, Jubes is still in school. You teach?" This wasn't something she found in looking him up. "Would lunch be easier?" Meeting at four only gives them a little over an hour to dine and spend time together. Warren is about to say something else when Fern's hands touch his, showing him how to wrap up the napkin. His cheeks flush with color and he's quiet a bit before he manages to find his voice again, "Thanks. I...what was I saying?" Oh! Teaching. "I'm more...of a Guest Lecturer, I guess. At the High School I went to. Where Jubilee goes. I talk to them about how to conduct themselves on job interviews, how to write checks and open a savings account, how to manage credit cards...business-y things." He steals a couple of glances over at Fern but always looks back to the napkins. "I guess I'm not very good at this." "Oh, lunch would be good too," Fern says agreeably, setting aside the little bundle of napkin wrapped silverware that she just made. "I've been staying with a friend for the past few days, and he works out of his place. So it would be good to give him some space to do his thing without me around." The last thing she expects is for Warren to be awkward around a waitress, so his falter doesn't register, but she looks interested as he talks about teaching. "Really? That's awesome. Much more useful information for life than trying to remember what year it was when Martin Van Buren was elected." There's a dryness to her voice that might suggest she was a bit bored with school, but that lightens into a soft laugh. "You're doing fine. Not many people would even want to try to help." Angel just heard 'I've been staying with a friend and 'he'..." before he looks up. "Oh! I didn't...If you're seeing someone I don't want to get between you..." even though maybe he kind of does, but that's pushed aside for now. Right. Napkin. It needs to get folded with silverware in it. He should really focus on that. "I've never done this before..." is murmured, almost apologetically. Wait... what? Fern's brows draw together lightly, and her hands still as she looks at Warren. "Wait, did you mean, like a...." She stops, blushing herself, not saying 'date', because she thinks it's silly to even consider. He's Warren Worthington. But if he did, then she's just been the biggest moron to walk the Earth. She nods, looking down and moving her hands again. "Sort of," she says softly, apologetically. Blue eyes lift back to Warren, "I didn't think you were..." The sentence goes unfinished again as her blush deepens. But she's still who she is, and she smiles and chides him lightly about the silverware, "You're fine. Quicker to pick it up than I was when I started." Warren looks up as her hands move from him and she says those two simple words. "Oh." He watches her for a moment before giving a toss of his head, "Well, forget I asked then." There's a 'charming' smile then, as if the previous 'Warren' was locked back away. "I mean, I should have assumed it, anyhow. A pretty, charming girl like you couldn't possibly be single." The napkin-wrapped silverware is pushed away, "You mentioned that there was some rosemary bread?" The change isn't lost on Fern. She's around actors all the time, after all, and sometimes it isn't so hard to tell when someone stops being truly themselves and starts to play a part. She doesn't want to forget it, she doesn't have an abundance of friends, and no one can ever say that Warren isn't interesting for many reasons. Her voice is light, falling easily back into a good natured kidding, "Oh no, you've promised me food, and I'm gonna hold you to that. Whenever you want to." She'll let him decide if he wants to have a new friend as well. "What can I get you to drink?" she asks easily, sliding out of the booth and to her feet. Her arm brushes lightly against his wing as she turns, looking to him expectantly for his answer. Warren never considered himself a good actor, but he knows how one must behave in all sorts of social situations...even when one is jilted. "Well then, if you insist," he rests his arms across the back of the chair, obviously done with helping fold silverware into napkins. "Some place not Italian, I would think. Salt and Battery in Noho? It's not all that far from here and it's not making you go too far uptown." And they serve non-poultry. As her arm touches his wing, Warren pulls it back, out of the way. "A glass of wine would be nice, please." The suggestion lifts Fern's brows, "I've heard of there, that'd be great." She can't quite hide the lilt of excitement in her voice, at trying somewhere new and that he's at least agreeable to give it a go. "I'll be right back, Warren," comes even as she's turning, and her sneakers squeak lightly as she crosses the dining room, heading for the kitchen. Category:Log